


Recipe for Disaster

by romanticalgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bad Cooking, Barbershop Quartet, Cooking, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Steve tries to cook.And he does.Badly.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	Recipe for Disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cryo_Bucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/gifts).



***

Natasha, Sam, and Bucky walk into the safehouse and immediately go on the defensive. There's a foul stench in the air, and there's no noise, no _Steve_. They all make their way slowly through the living room, guns out and ready. Bucky stops and points out the smoke to them and edges in front of them. They're both more than capable but, what's around the corner is unknown, and it's always better to throw a super soldier at it first. 

Well, not always, but Bucky has more self-preservation instinct than Steve.

He swings around the corner and goes low, gun aimed at the center mass person standing there. He's completely still, head bowed, and Bucky would know that shoulder to waist ratio anywhere.

"Steve?"

Steve looks up, and his body is hazy in the smoke. There's an open window and a dangling fire alarm hanging from the ceiling to go with the pan in the sink that's smoking as well.

Steve sighs and shrugs as Sam and Natasha come into the room. "We might want to get take out for dinner."

**

It's not that Steve can't cook. He can. He can put stuff in the microwave and hit the buttons just like it says on the package. He can boil water. He can dump a can of soup into a pot and stir it so it doesn't burn. He can boil water and heat up spaghetti sauce. Hell, he can even fry an egg.

But whenever he tries to put more than two ingredients together, whenever he tries to follow a goddamn recipe, something goes haywire in his brain and he ends up with a smoking sludge that smells like something died a horrible, violent death. 

It's not that he needs to cook exactly. There are plenty of microwaveable things and protein drinks. There are more restaurants than he can count that deliver or let him pick up. He could eat his way through the power bar section of a grocery store. He could survive on hard boiled eggs. 

But he's retired. Sam has his wings and the shield, Bucky's got his arm and his guns, and Natasha doesn't need anything to be deadly. They go out. They fight the bad guys. They save the world. 

And Steve.

Doesn't.

And he doesn't want to. He's fought for too long, and too much of what he's done has been twisted and corrupted by politicians with their own agenda. He truly feels like a relic from a different time in ways that have nothing to do with being over a hundred years old. 

Bucky and Nat and Sam and Wanda all tell him that he's earned his rest - as if they haven't. They tell him to keep the home fires burning. Just don't cook with them. They tell him to focus on art or learning or something. To have the life he should have had. 

He's not sure what that means. That he should have had. The fact that he hadn't died before Erskine found him was a miracle in and of itself, brought about by Sarah Rogers and Bucky Barnes. The fact that he survived the crash was another miracle brought on by Erskine himself. The thought that he might have gone home without Bucky and had a life that meant much of anything is a lie that Steve doesn't even bother to tell himself. He would have made the dance with Peggy and then he would have gone back to Brooklyn and mourned with the only thing like a family he had left, assuming they didn't hate him for getting their only son killed.

He stares down at the cookbook like it's an enemy - Red Skull or Ultron or Thanos or a thousand others he's faced. The cookbook stares back, absolutely unfazed. Betty Crocker does not cower in fear like the others. She doesn't care that he can rip her apart with his hands. She knows his weaknesses. 

But he was Captain-goddamn-America. 

He can do this.

**

He can't do this. 

He's got flour in his hair and he keeps sneezing because he ended up with pepper up his nose. He hears the front door open and buries his head in his hands. From the footsteps, he knows it's Bucky, and he's not sure if that's worse or better than anyone else.

Bucky heaves a sigh from the kitchen door. "Really? Again?"

"Fuck off. At least nothing's on fire."

"That's a really low bar, Steve."

"Remember the part where I told you to fuck off?"

Bucky walks over to the counter, looks at it, dusts it off then boosts himself up to sit on it. Steve doesn't look up, just watches Bucky's feet. "YOu want to tell me what this is about?"

"I'm trying to cook."

"Trying being the operative word." Bucky sighs. "You don't have to be good at everything. Hell, we all know that you suck at self preservation. If you want to work on a skill, maybe start with the one that might get you killed."

"I'm retired."

"That isn't enough to instill confidence in me that you won't do something stupid like randomly jump out a window or dive out of an airplane without a parachute."

"I'd have to be on active duty to even have the opportunity to do either of those things. So, again, kindly fuck the fuck off."

Bucky hops off the counter and walks over to Steve, squatting down in front of him, resting his forearms on Steve's knees. "C'mon. Used to tell each other everything."

"There's nothing to tell. Just trying to learn how to cook. And failing miserably."

"Maybe try a new hobby. Wanda's a great cook. So's Sam. Hell, Nat and I are passable. You don't have to cook."

"No?" Steve knows he sounds sharp, can tell by the way Bucky's eyes narrow. "What do I do then? Read books? Twiddle my thumbs? Maybe I can fetch you all your slippers when you come home."

"Ooooo-kay. This went somewhere I didn't expect." Bucky moves a little closer. "That's what's bothering you? You don't think you're contributing? You've done enough, Steve. That's part of why we do this, the four of us. Because the world needs some saving, and you've saved it more than your share of times."

"I need to clean up this mess so you guys can have something to eat." He pushes Bucky back lightly, and he rolls from the balls of his feet to his heels, standing up. When Steve gets up as well, they're eye to eye given that Bucky's still in his combat books and Steve's barefoot. Bucky doesn't step back and Steve sighs, sidestepping around him, shoulders bent as he starts to clean.

**

"It's impatience. And the fact that you hold yourself to unreasonable standards." Natasha comes up from behind Steve and ducks under his arm to look at what he's planning on making. "Don't start with filet mignon."

"I'm starting with meatloaf."

"You have all your supplies?"

He gestures toward the myriad of bottles and bowls, the eggs and the breadcrumbs. "Everything on the list."

"So, you're going to go slow and just take your time."

"Yes, Natasha." He doesn't grit his teeth, but it's a close call. "I'm not a child."

"I'm not saying you are. I'm saying that you need to slow down. You're always trying too hard. Still trying to prove yourself. You realize you don't have anything to prove, right?"

"Do I even want to know what Bucky said to you?"

"I don't need Bucky to tell me anything. I know you pretty well, Rogers." She goes up on her toes and kisses his cheek. "You're not as mysterious as you think you are."

"I don't think I'm mysterious at all."

"Which should tell you something, huh?"

**

Wanda knocks on his bedroom door and peeks her head in when Steve grumbles a come in. She comes inside and sits on the edge of his bed. She sets her hand on the bed between them, not quite touching him. 

"You're not planning on reading my mind, are you?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't have reason to say it." She taps her fingers against his. 

"Doesn't matter. Shouldn't have said it." He sighs. "Maybe if I let you, everyone would leave me alone."

"It's just that everyone's worried. You seem distant." 

"I think you're overstating it." He shrugs. "I'm just trying to learn something. And failing miserably. It's frustrating. I have an eidetic memory. There's no reason I can't follow a damn recipe."

"Not everyone can cook. That's okay. I can't roller skate."

"Neither can I. But I'm pretty sure that roller skating isn't a necessary life skill."

"These days, neither is cooking."

"Are you guys trading off talking to me? Is Sam up next?"

"Sam keeps telling us to leave you alone and you'll talk when you're damn ready."

"Well," Steve shrugs. "He's always been the smart one. Except there's nothing to talk about. Well. I should probably warn you not to look in the trash outside. It might be toxic to a non-super soldier." 

"Didn't go well, huh?"

"If you want to put it mildly."

"You want to order pizza?"

Steve sighs. "Yeah."

**

Sam's the first one in the house, but he's closely trailed by the rest of their team. He sniffs the air as he comes into the kitchen. "What's that smell?"

"Don't start," Steve says, but Sam cuts him off. 

"No, seriously. What's that smell? It smells really good."

"Have a seat. All of you."

Steve sees Sam glare at each of them in turn, and they all sit at the table. It's already set with a salad and tortilla chips, a bowl each of sour cream and shredded cheese.Once they're all settled, Steve turns around, holding a large pan with pot holders. He carries it over and sets it in the middle of the table, pulling off the lid. They all rise off their chairs to look inside at the bubbling red, watching as Steve stirs it, bringing beans and peppers and onions to the surface.

"Is it spicy?" Natasha asks.

"Yeah. A bit."

"You tasted it?" Bucky asks.

"How else would I know if it's spicy, asshole?"

Bucky puts both his hands up in response to Steve's glare. "Just curious. Because your definition of spicy is a hell of a lot different than mine. Or anyone else's."

"Just shut up and hand me your bowl." He's not really mad, but he keeps glaring at Bucky for a while until he hands over his bowl. Steve uses the ladle to fill it then takes Natasha, Wanda, and Sam's bowls in turn. He fills his own then takes the pot back to the stove. He ignores the rest of them, putting cheese and sour cream on his, mixing it up before breaking some tortilla chips with his hands and letting the pieces settle on the top.

He looks at them all, one by one. Bucky exhales and shakes his head. "You haven't killed me yet, Rogers. Doubt you're going to start now." He doctors his own bowl and then dips his spoon in. They all stare at him as he takes a bite. Steve just smiles.

"Damn." Bucky puts his spoon back in the bowl and smiles at Steve. "It's good."

"Thank you." He can't quite keep from smiling. 

"Huh." Natasha licks her spoon. "I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks."

"You didn't teach me anything."

"Is it possible for someone to teach you anything?"

"It's really good, Steve."

"Thank you, Wanda."

Sam takes a few bites then smiles. "Man, you called my mama."

"I was told that, if I'm gonna be all y'all's house-husband, I needed to learn to have a hot supper waiting on the table when you got home."

"That is the worst impression of my mother I've ever heard, and if you do it again, I'm going to punch you, super soldier or not."

"Hey, hey." Steve holds up his hands. "Who am I to piss off Captain America?"

**

Bucky sits on the edge of Steve's bed then shifts and stretches out next to Steve. It's a twin bed, so it's not exactly comfortable. 

Steve turns his head and gets a faceful of Bucky's elbow. "You have a bed of your own, you know."

"You know that's not how we think of you, right?"

Steve looks back up at the ceiling. "It's really not about how you see me. I felt useless for most of my life. I hate it now just as much as I hated it then."

"You're our mastermind. You do the planning that gets us home. Just because you're not fighting doesn't mean you're useless. Sometimes we need this." Bucky pokes Steve in the temple. "A hell of a lot more than we need these." This time he pokes Steve in the arm.

"But the chili didn't hurt, right?" Steve turns his head and finds Bucky looking at him, smiling. 

"No, Steve. It didn't hurt at all."


End file.
